Segways and Snorkelling

Posted on January 12, 2012 by sheila

The first tour we book in Cozumel is a Segway and Snorkel tour.  Since our first segway experience in Mauritius, Lee has been keen to get back on one again.  We had booked an early slot, but our tour time has changed – obviously to facilitate one of the many cruise ships that are now docked at different ports. It’s going to be a good day for tourist income on the island!  This later time actually suits us, but highlights how dependent the island is on the regular influxes of cash-laden tourists. Every activity is geared to suit the ship schedules.  The holy grail for a tour operator is to get added to the activity list on one of the ships and watch the money roll in.  When no ships are in port, many streets are completely deserted. You can tell that there’s at least one lurking about somewhere when the main square is busy and music is pumping out of the clubs. Small shops stay open late into the night hoping to profit.  All the storefronts along the shore, or close to the main square, peddle an odd mix of items designed to appeal to the average American tourists they can expect to see visiting for a few short hours.  The market ranges from high end shops, to cheap flea markets – all in close proximity to the cruise piers. The glut of ‘silver shops’ are generally guarded with at least one machine-gun-wielding security guard lurking outside, or just across the street.  It doesn’t look like they expect to see a lot of action, but it seems to be a prerequisite to prove you’re a serious upmarket place.  There’s also a mix of Tequila and Cuban cigar shops.  And let’s not forget the shops hawking nothing but Texan boots for the discerning customer. Few electronic devices feature in the stores, but watches, jewellery and perfumes are popular too.

Our tour meeting point brings us further south to the biggest pier, where the towering bulk of a Royal Carribean cruise ship waits, a steady stream of occupants spilling out onto the streets to spend some cash on having a good time. Today a group of them are joining us on our excursion. We pile into a bus with our guide and travel a short distance down the road to a centre where a pile of Segways lie out in rows under the sun.  During a short toilet break we witness a show of the Flying Men dance which is a regular occurrence in these parts.  The usual intro and demo of how the Segways function is given, and then the group are individually assisted with mounting the beasts for a trial spin. We circle around repeatedly until even the most unstable person has gained enough confidence to start feeling bored. We are sternly told throughout the excursion that any mounting or dismounting is to be done with assistance. There are to be no high jinks or anything more complicated than a bunch of people travelling single file, right hand side – or the culprits get banned from the Segways and put in the truck!  This makes good sense as we’re about to take to the roads with actual traffic careering past at any time. It’s a far cry from our Mauritius Segway Safari though, where the Segways were bigger and heavier, and the terrain was varied with various forms of wildlife and rocks/ditches to navigate. There anything went… one of the guys would just come along and pick you up again if your misadventure involved being unable to get mobile again for too long.  In Cozumel, once the group is ready to go our bags are loaded into an open back truck which follows along behind us, furiously tooting its horn as advance warning of any overtaking traffic approaching from the rear.


We sedately stay in line while the group trundles along the coast road heading further south. We pass by numerous hotels and clubs, all overlooking clear blue skies and calm seas of cobalt and turquoise waters. After about 30 minutes we reach a small beach club where we have 75 minutes to avail of the facilities. Most people obtain snorkelling gear from our guides and head for the water. The reefs around Cozumel have a good reputation. The waters are crystal clear and our masks are in good condition, so visibility is excellent. The variety of fish is limited, but there’s definitely plenty to see close to shore. The water is luke warm and inviting. A nice change for anyone used to the grim Irish waters.  Added bonus – fresh water showers afterwards to wash that nasty salty layer from your skin before embarking on the return Segway journey which goes by a little faster. It’s a nice way to spend a day, and a great way to see a bit of the coast.

We decide to walk the 5.5 kilometers back to ‘home’  It’s a fair distance, but there are plenty of beach clubs dotted along the coast to take advantage of the visiting cruise hordes. We stop off for cocktails and french fries overlooking the water. At the next pier Lee can’t resist the lure of Starbucks, so we both get a caffeine fix to keep us going through downtown San Miguel, and out to our pink Casa.  For dinner we make the wise decision to return to Del Sur Argentina Empanadas and try their grilled fish – best fish I’ve ever had. Lightly seasoned and perfectly cooked.  Along with more delicious empanadas. Can’t recommend the place highly enough.  A wonderful way to end your day. Tomorrow we’re back to the beautiful waters for some sailing and more snorkelling. It’s our last day in Cozumel before we move on to see another side of Mexico.

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Go Slow

Posted on January 11, 2012 by sheila

Too much travel combined with doing a lot of activities makes you feel weary of the world very fast.  We know that from exerience, so we had no real intentions of doing much in our first couple of days in Cozumel… unless cabin fever set in early.  So we went with a boring and easy daily routine initially – visit the nearby supermarket in the morning for some pastries for breakfast, and bread for a sandwich later.  Laze about all day reading and availing of the wifi.  Then venture out for dinner in the cooler evenings.   The second evening we ate at Casa Mission which had the highest Trip Advisor rating – a large restaurant complete with Mariachi band and very posh service. We had a good lime soup. Lee had surf and turf, and I had fresh fish. It was all very nice, but nothing to write home about compared to the previous night. We watched others being served the trademark ‘sexy coffee’ (coffee liqueur poured out while on fire), but neither of us fancied drinking one ourselves.  Overall we weren’t very impressed.  This is the problem with recommendations – what pleases the majority won’t necessarily fit in with what you like.  But it does beat the risky approach of complete random selection.

During the days I ploughed through some books, and looked up potential excursions for us to consider once we got sick of doing very little. Lee read the entire Internet (in between repeated cursing and ranting at the clunky kindle fire browser that failed horribly on most gaming sites) and embarked on a one-man crusade against all mosquitos that entered the house.  As it happens, mexican mosquitoes *love* Lee. His blood is like catnip to them. They started the war the first night with a fierce biting foray that escalated into a major assault on his face.  This was too big an insult.  The only appropriate thing to do was take extreme measures and try to eliminate every last one of them, regardless of guilt or innocence.  I, however, needed no insect repellent while I slept so long as Lee was nearby.  After the first night it looked like Lee’s face had got into a fight with a wall and lost. They then favoured his right arm which also started to swell in patches. This was not a good holiday experience, or look. Typically this was the only time recently where we didn’t bring a mosquito net on holidays. Usually it doesn’t get used. Lesson is most definitely now learnt.

I didn’t feel too left out of the wildlife interaction, as the ant army invading the main room was out to get me. 24 hours after our arrival a mound of excavated material started building on the tiled floor in the main living area. Slowly I start developing small red spots on my legs and arms. It was hot and humid inside, and the insects gave no respite. We decided it might be time to start getting out and about before one or other species involved ended up getting completely exterminated.

We wandered along the seafront mingling with the cruise crowds. The Disney Magic was docked in port, and the nearby streets were busier than we’d seen them before. We had a few forgotten items to pick up before going out and doing any tours for the rest of the week so we joined the crowds of shoppers. We got some bits and pieces and also treated ourselves to new sunglasses.  It took some effort to find suitable ones.  It was a close call as to whether we or the shop assistant would run out of patience first; every pair you wanted to try on had to be taken out of a display case by them.   We rewarded ourselves for a successful shopping expedition with Margaritas at Wet Wendy’s Margarita bar, which funnily enough, specialises in Margaritas.  The friendly waiter shared with us his two favourites – I had the chocolate mint, and Lee got melon chilli. They might just have been the most disgusting cocktails I have ever seen, melting into piles of sludge, but they were very tasty. We had burritos and tostadas to go with the drinks which were also good. It was time for an early night then. We had our first tour booked for the next day.  We wandered home through a refreshing mist of rain and once Lee finished a final mosquito revenge rampage, it was lights out.


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Hola Mexico

Posted on January 9, 2012 by sheila

It’s an extremely early start to the day for us; a cold morning dash up the road to Penn Station dragging our luggage behind us. Then a busy commuter train as far as the airport, where we queue and get screened a few more times for good measure. As we wait for the plane, a guy discusses with anyone nearby in the line about how he’s looking for his medication, but it’s in another bag.  Judging by his manner this is some kind of psychiatric medication. I’m sure whoever sits next to him is really going to enjoy the flight.  I’m not looking forward to it much either.  I wasn’t too well the night before.  My stomach is still unhappy, and not too impressed at the offer of nothing but intermittent airline snacks for most of the day. The layover in Atlanta is too short to do very much other then get to the next departure gate, so proper food will have to wait until we reach Mexico.

Once we finally arrive at Cancun airport we’re delayed by more endless immigration and customs queues full of very loud people.  Each time we get past one check, we find another waiting around the corner – generally with very few staff to cater to the volume of traffic trying to get through.  We finally escape the bowels of the airport to be accosted by the usual chaos of taxi drivers and touts outside, desperately trying to funnel people into their taxis. We opt for the simple and effective airport bus which takes you to Playa del Carmen in about an hour for a reasonable fare. We pass numerous exclusive resorts on the way, dripping in wealth and privilege. However our accommodation for this trip is far more budget-friendly.  We’re heading for a holiday rental villa on the island of Cozumel.

The closest port to Cozumel is at Playa del Carmen, where ferries regularly run back and forth between the two.  Playa del Carmen is a bustling place. Crowds of tourists wandering the streets and sprawled out on the beaches.  It also has all the sideshows that go along with the tourism industry – taxis, shops, tour operators and fast food. Definitely not a very authentic Mexican experience.  We grab some unappetising congealed pizza slices to keep us going just before boarding the ferry, hoping to reach our ultimate destination before it gets too dark.  It takes almost an hour before the coastline disappears behind us and we finish the docking procedure at Cozumel ferry port. There they search my bag once more, just for fun. The sun is below the horizon when we finally exit the port, hoping our guide to the accommodation will be there and save us the effort of finding our way through unfamiliar streets in the approaching evening gloom.

He’s there alright, an elderly Mexican waving a mis-spelt sign and brandishing a walking stick. He can barely walk, yet seems happy to drive us in a car that has definitely seen better days. “Just two of you?  Just two bags?”  Where he would fit more people or bags I don’t actually know. There’s little space left in the beat up car once our cases are jammed in. We spend what seems to be a long time driving up one way streets, and then back along others, before reaching our accommodation for the next few days.  Our driver maintains a friendly patter for the duration of the trip.  ”You want to rent a car?”  Not so much if this is what a typical driver on the island is like on the roads!  He then proceeds to give us a lengthy description of all his family members through each generation (though just the males of course).  We’re starting to run out of appropriate responses by the time the car creaks to a halt.  Despite the length of the car journey, we’re located only a 15 minute walk from the town centre where all the action takes place. Our holiday home is one of three colourful villas situated in a less affluent, but fairly quiet neighbourhood. Although the combined stench of freshener, disinfectant and bug spray permeates everything (including our clothes after a couple of days), the rooms are spacious and relatively clean.  After freshening up we go in search of our first proper meal of the day.

Cozumel is a reasonably big island just off the east coast of Mexico that is extremely popular with the cruise lines. The main town is a bit smaller and homelier than Playa del Carmen seemed to be. The residential streets are quiet, although the main roads are clogged with traffic at times. At this time of year the town centre is peaceful, unless there’s a cruise ship docked nearby. There are no queues for the plentiful restaurants, although most seem to be doing some trade.  We bring our business to Del Sur Argentina Empanadas.  It’s currently in second place at the top of the Trip Advisor list of Cozumel restaurants. We later find that Trip Advisor is the primary means of advertising to tourists visiting these parts.  Signs adorn most eating establishments and the tour operators ask for any positive comments to be added there to help drive more future business to them.  Assuming that a highly recommended establishment won’t disappoint too much, we opt for checking it out.

We find ourselves in a clean and cosy place. Apart from the main courses of grilled meat and fish, the restaurant specialises in empanadas. These are pastries that can contain savoury or sweet fillings.  We share a chicken empanada for a starter, and it’s pretty good. We risk the steak for mains. Although the waiter smirks a little when I say I want mine well done, he insists we cut the meat he brings to the table to make sure it’s cooked as each of us wanted. The meat is served in just its own juices. Mine is a little pink in places, but definitely cooked. Both are juicy and cooked beautifully. The side salad has a lovely vinagrette that isn’t too sharp, yet has a tasty kick. Some fresh bread and garlic butter round things off nicely. This is a very impressive dinner so far.  We can’t resist trying a dessert. My apple and cinnamon empanada is delicious, and Lee loves his caramel empanada too. If this is the typical quality of the food we’re going to be having in Mexico, then we’re going to be very happy here.

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A New York Day

Posted on January 8, 2012 by sheila

Morning finds us awake much earlier than expected. We fight our way through the masses downstairs for what is ultimately an unsatisfying breakfast that really isn’t worth the effort of fighting for. The breakfast area is unfortunately very short on space, and is completely unable to cope with more than a small number of guests at the one time.  It’s absolute pandemonium as tidal waves of guests attempt to reach some food.  We decide to get out of the hotel for a bit, and head back to Time Square to check out watches in the Fossil shop. There’s one we’ve been trying unsuccessfully to get for Lee in Ireland. Finding it amongst the selection of watches on display in this store is an overwhelming task. Virtually identical watches are spread out across the store making it hard to tell the differences. Ultimately we find what we’re looking for and Lee gets a slightly different colour.  I pick up a replacement for my own battered watch so we’re both very happy with ourselves. We have just enough time left after our retail therapy session to hightail it up to the entrance of Central Park where we spent a lot of time on our previous visit. This time the trees are barren of leaves and the landscape is quite stark.  It’s nice to see it in a different season.

After a quick glance around we jump on the nearest subway to get back to the hotel in time to meet Aoife and Barry, who recently relocated to the area. We all go for brunch in a typical American diner that serves massive portions of breakfast food. Suitably fortified with this second attempt at breakfast, we travel south in a probably futile attempt to catch the next ferry to Staten Island. Time is completely against us, and we’re too late to do this. So we stop off for a coffee and then trek halfway across The Brooklyn bridge for some great views of the city. This is well worth doing to give a bit of perspective which you lose when you’re walking through the streets at the feet of towering blocks of metal and struggling to see the sky.  By now it’s time for our appointment to see the 9/11 memorial so we don’t continue to the far side of the bridge. It’s only when we’re queuing for the memorial that I realise we forgot to bring our ids with us. Oops. Thankfully, despite a thorough bag screening, no one asks us for any form of id in the end. The site itself has two tasteful pools marking the spots where the towers once stood. Names of the fallen are inscribed around the rim. The new towers are about halfway up now, we think. They’re possibly more impressive as they currently stand, reaching halfway up into the skies with cranes circling. Some surrounding buildings are also getting a facelift; gaping holes where the uppermost windows haven’t been replaced yet. It’s a big change from the massive hole in the ground we passed by on our last visit here.

We return to the original plan and manage to catch the Staten island ferry this time. I’ve heard it gives a good view of the Statue of Liberty on the way past. We’ve never made the tourist trek out to Liberty Island to see it properly. Happily the ferry proves to give a pretty good view on the way past, and an even better view of the city skyline from the sea. There are obviously plenty of other tourists also availing of the free view on the ferry. And plenty of locals, one of whom starts accusing a tourist of standing in her space while everyone queues to exit the ferry at the end. She spends several minutes detailing in a loud voice how she could easily stab him because she doesn’t know who he is, and he was standing too close when she bent over to tie her lace or something. Err, okay. Close proximity to others is usually an expected hazard of any public transport. The poor guy looks desperate to get away from her.  When we finally disembark and start circling around to re-board we pass by her again (obviously giving her a wide berth to ensure no encroachment of personal space). She’s carrying on a full scale conversation with herself now.

The return journey back treats us to a beautiful view as the last rays of light from the sun reflect off windows and the city lights start to power on. Not too bad for a free round trip.  We’re hungry by this stage so we return, yet again, to Time Square and go to an Italian restaurant close by for some food and drinks. The kitchen staff manage to lose our order for a while, so we benefit from a free round of beer and cocktails. After a hearty meal we move on to a sports bar for a few more drinks before it’s time for everyone to call it quits. We have an early start in the morning and warmer climates to visit. For now, it’s time to say goodbye to New York once more.

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Flying West

Posted on January 7, 2012 by sheila

The process of clearing airport US security checks has not improved at all since the last time I had the pleasure of being interrogated by them. Earning the privilege of passing through American territory just to get to another destination is an arduous process. If anything, the officials are becoming more surly, abrupt and downright rude. The sickly-sweet American customer service patter is nowhere in sight. Perhaps it’s the idea of working a job where there’s no way around the moral complications of accepting tips. In any case, they’re not a good example of enjoying your job (though looking at some of the imbeciles holding up the procedure in front of us, it’s not too surprising that tempers are already frayed 10 minutes after the lines first opened). As a result, despite arriving at the airport hours early, we barely have any spare time between the check-in and boarding the plane. On the plus side, Delta provides a good selection of in-flight entertainment. We enjoyed Moneyball. I suffered through half of Crazy Stupid Love before switching to Contagion, which was an enjoyable romp. According to Lee I didn´t miss out anything by changing my choice. That left us with the start of some mindless rom com to take us down to land.

Now we just had to navigate our way into the Big Apple itself. The process is quite easy, but the signs aren’t very clear for anyone not familiar with How Things Work. Our first attempt to pass from airtrain to train station saw our tickets rejected. Despite the impression the ticket machine had given, we actually needed another ticket just to exit first. While we figured that out we witnessed the face-off between an irate Jamaican gentleman and an airport official who was clearly spoiling for a fight with someone. The crux of the confrontation was that there’s no clear signs on the airtrain to indicate which journeys are free to other terminals, and which involve a fare to exit the station at the end. The elderly gentleman was incensed at being told there was now a fee to be paid in order to pass. “This is America!”, the official shrieked at him. “Nothing is free!!!” She then proceeded to threaten to take off her uniform right there and then to teach him a lesson. He seemed to be up for this despite the weight disadvantage. Other officials began to congregate at the turnstile, making it clear that there was no way he’d get past all of them, though he was welcome to try. As we left for the train platform the old man was still oscillating back and forth between the relative safety of retreating back towards the airtrain and the temptation to take on the burly army at the turnstile.

After a short train journey we checked into our room at the Holiday Inn around the corner from Penn Station. It’s a great location, though not cheap until you compare it to the extortionate prices of lodging in New York in general. Within minutes of getting to our room our friends Craig and Liz arrived, fresh from a disappointing visit to the sex museum. Apparently even less interesting than it had sounded on the website. So cross that one off your bucket list. We were extra happy to see them as they brought with them two Kindle Fires we’d previously had posted to their address. After a hearty dinner while we caught up on what´s been happening since our paths last crossed in Niagara, we roamed the streets of New York, taking in the sights and valiantly fighting the jetlag. The weather was pleasantly mild as we sampled hot drinks in a Christmas market or joined the throngs in Time Square. The last time we were in New York, Time Square looked quite differerent. The pedestrian sections give a different feel to the place. As your eyes become accustomed to the barrage of bright displays there’s a bit of space now to look around without getting jostled into the path of a yellow cab. The vinegary smell from the street vendor stalls watered my eyes as we pushed through crowds and on past endless groups of people hawking tickets to yet another comedy show. There’s always something to go see or do here.

When we’d had our fill of bright lights and the big cityscape we made our way to Grand Central station for the others to catch their train home. By this time in the evening there was little to see other than closed shops and restaurants beneath the massive central arches. Here and there a homeless person posed like a statue in the middle of the crowds, or jerkily stumbled in a circle while speaking in tongues (which effectively cleared a lot of space around them). It seemed like most ‘normal’ people had gone home for the night – a sign for us that it might be time to give in to the jet lag. We took a pleasant walk back to our hotel where sleep anxiously beckoned.

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A year in pictures…

Posted on August 3, 2011 by sheila
Keena on the couch

This gallery contains 41 photos.

July 2010 – July 2011                    

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Venice

Posted on October 17, 2010 by sheila

A 5am start saw us sitting on a bus bound for Venice, via Slovenia.  Outside of the summer season most of the ferries between Croatia and Italy aren’t running which makes bus the best (or only) form of transport between them.  In a similar manner to Bosnia, Slovenia squeezes its way in between Italy and Croatia, stretching out a narrow vein of land all the way to the sea.  This makes for more complicated border crossings than usual.  At our first boundary between Croatia and Slovenia we merely sat on the bus while someone came on board and gave our passports a cursory check.  This would have been a quick and simple process, but there’s always one in every group…  This time it was the women who already had a reputation for running off the bus any time it came to a stop to go looking for a toilet yet again.  The bus driver was disgusted when he climbed back aboard to find that she was MIA once more.  There was a rather heated and loud ‘discussion’ when she finally got back, but eventually the engine was started up and we set off once more.  Literally a mile down the road before the bus had picked up much speed, we stopped at the next border.  To gain entry to Italy everyone had to shuffle off the bus, get their baggage from the luggage compartment, walk through an office waving their passport at officials, then queue to get back on the bus a couple of metres past the border.  Not the most efficient use of time.

Once the official rigmarole was done we were free to continue on through Italy, stopping off here and there to deposit people until we reached our destination of the infamous Venice.  Rather than deal with the higher prices and more complicated directions to locate accommodation, we had opted for staying on the mainland, only a short bus journey away from the main tourist attractions.  Finding out where and how to purchase bus tickets took far longer than the trip across to Venice itself.

This was my second time visiting Venice, and probably my last.  It’s a unique sight to see, but is progressively becoming more and more of a tourist-trap.  It’s still worth spending a few hours following the crowds around the maze of streets and canals  until you become hopelessly lost.  The grand canal is beautiful on a sunny day despite the somewhat tacky black gondolas which inevitably remind me of expensive and overly ornate coffins.  Rather than pay extortionate fees to clamber into one, your money is better invested in some icecream to keep you going while you wander into the nooks and alleys where shops display their wares.  Intricately designed carnaval masks fill some shelves, upmarket fashion lines with unimaginable price-tags are displayed in others.  None of these were high on our shopping list for this trip.  We walked until we had seen the major sites and were starting to get deja-vu going around corners and over bridges.  It was time to try and navigate back to the start relying on intermittent signposts rather than following the crowds who inevitably led the way to dead ends.  As the tourist buses started to fill up and depart for the last time, we made our way back to the hotel for our last night of the holiday before we returned to the mayhem of life back home.

 

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Pizza and Pasta for a hungry duck

Posted on October 15, 2010 by sheila

On a cold misty morning we regretfully left the roaring fire behind and started out on the very long drive back down out of the mountains.  Ironically, to do this we first climbed up winding roads into more drizzly clouds.  We crossed never-ending flat plains still bedecked in brown and orange shades where we passed lonely villages from time to time.  We were beginning to regret not having had an artery-clogging fried breakfast before we set out.  As always, there was nothing much on offer in the way of sustenance along the roads.  Along one long deserted stretch of road in the middle of the mountains we suddenly came across a large black oil can that someone had thoughtfully placed in the middle of the lane in the few minutes since the last car had passed by.  As soon as we went over it, the car complained noisily and we stuttered to an abrupt halt, just about coaxing the car to the side of the road.  After some investigative efforts under the bonnet of the car, I established that the can was firmly wedged between the car and a lot of roadside gravel.  This was not a good situation to be in.  I rolled up my sleeves and proceeded to wrestle with the can which was putting up an admirable fight.  Some time later I did emerge triumphant, but covered in enough oil and scrapes to ensure that I wouldn’t soon forget the experience.  Despite our worries, the car surprisingly shook off the incident and merrily continued on, possibly also eager to get back to a warmer climate before any more sabotage could take place.

The clouds were clearing as we crossed the last of the mountain peaks and began to descend.  The thermometer showed that we were finally leaving the cold behind us.  However getting back down the mountains to the coast was a long, tedious exercise in constantly braking whilst following a laden-down truck that wavered all over the narrow road.  We finally reached the coast and followed the horseshoe bend around, avoiding the clutches of massive Rijeka, but taking many unintentional diversions into small congested towns as the signposting led us astray again and again.  It was proving to be a day of much frustration as we failed to find even one roadside cafe to rejuvenate our flagging spirits.  Despite our best efforts we eventually ended up on one of the tolled highways we’d been trying to avoid.  We resigned ourselves to the inevitable at this point and followed it all the way until we reached Pula at the southern tip of the area.  Many gruelling hours after leaving Plitvice we rolled into the town centre and with a large degree of luck, parked ourselves outside what just might have been the only open cafe that served food (and for bonus points also had wifi).  After a snack and much examination of google maps we were in a slightly better position to find our way out to the suburbs where our apartment waited for us, somewhere.  Unfortunately maps and Croatian roads don’t match too well.  A curved road on one, is a straight line on the other.  A left turn, is a slight bend.  One minute you’re happily going the right way… five minutes later and you’re not sure which side of the town you’re on anymore.  Croatian road signs are also small and illegible at any kind of distance – so useless, basically.  There’s nothing more fun than spending a long time circling round and round, desperately trying to locate yourself when you can’t tell what road you’re on.  Somehow we did eventually find our way to where we wanted to go.  The family’s designated English speaker (their son, Sasha) donned his slippers, let us in to our apartment, recited a list of hints and suggestions, and retreated back to sleep in front of the tv.

Our apartment was about a 10 minute drive from the centre of Pula and located in a reasonably good area.  Our first night we made the rookie error of returning to the centre of Pula to look for dinner.  A horrible mistake.  Not only was there no food to be found, but it turned out that finding the apartment a second time wasn’t any easier than the first.  In fact after an hour of wandering dark, quiet streets where we failed to find open restaurants, it was only more difficult to find.  When we finally found our way back, the decision was made to keep future excursions to a minimum.  We abandoned the car and went searching for the ‘quite good’ restaurant that we’d been told was close by.  Sure enough, the Marco Polo pizzeria was doing a roaring trade in delivering pizzas a couple of streets away.  Conveniently for us, they also had a restaurant section where you could get a number of fine Italian pasta dishes also.  The food was incredibly cheap aswell as being excellent.  Weary of searching for decent food, we returned to this place not twice, but 4 nights in a row.  After a long week of travelling around Croatia, we were happy to stay put for a few days.  The apartment was nice and spacious, there were pastries from the local patisserie for break fast, and pizza and pasta from the restaurant for dinner.  So for a few days we diligently did very little other than rest and eat.  All was good – apart from the unfortunate incident where Lee had just started to perform his ‘hungry duck’ impression and the owner’s son called to the door.  A brief, and awkward conversation ensued.  Funnily enough, he steered well clear of us for the rest of the time we were there.

Once we were tired of resting up, we headed northwards as far as Rovinj for a day trip.  This is yet another town along the coast (Croatia managed to pretty much get the whole coastline when land was being divied up), usually connected to Venice via the summer ferry lines.  The town is like Dubrovnik in miniature, with winding cobbled streets on a hill, but with a strong flavour of Venice in the building style and the houses facing out onto the open water.  It’s a very pretty place, though the prices in the restaurants were shocking compared to what we’d been getting used to back in the suburbs of Pula.  Our last couple of days we moved out of those suburbs and into the centre of Pula, parting ways with our car.  The “toll blond woman” I was told to expect showed up to glower at us and explain loudly that there would now be yet another extortionate pickup fee even though they’d never arranged return of the vehicle, and didn’t give me any options when I made the effort of contacting them about it.  By the time she finished “inspecting for damage” there wasn’t much love lost between us.  As she hadn’t crawled under the bonnet to check for extra dents we were fine.  As a parting shot I brought up the oil-less state of the engine on pickup.  “But it is a new car!” she told us.  There were some differences of opinion about whether you could refer to a dented rental car as ‘new’, or why that would make it impossible for there to be no oil in the engine.  But having had the last word, we departed quickly, happy  to see an end to driving on the crazy roads.

We had two days left to explore the heart of Pula and wander around the Roman forum at its centre.  Our last night was spent in the regal, but very ancient Hotel Riviera.  We had had little drama in the past few days (apart from the excitement of finding a real live McDonalds serving something other than pasta!).  Rather than let things get dull on our last night in Croatia, Lee saw it as his duty to fall through the planks that were being called a bed and found himself firmly stuck.  A valuable lesson in approaching what looked liked (and obviously was) a very frail bed with a lot more caution.  I briefly considered fetching my camera, but Lee was not looking very happy about being stuck in such an uncomfortable position.  In the interest of surviving the remainder of the trip, the camera was abandoned and a complicated extrication operation took place instead.  The bed was reconstructed for a few hours sleep before our early morning departure to Italy, and the infamous Venice.

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Plitvice Lakes

Posted on October 9, 2010 by sheila

What was the end of summer along a barren and rocky coast, was mid-autumn further inland in the mountains.  Once we were finally past all the surrounding mountain ranges, the winds dropped and the landscape changed dramatically.    We had gone from 16+ degrees to 4 as it became evening and the rain clouds expelled their loads.  The sky was grey, and periodically the road took us through misty clouds that dropped the temperature even further.   The land was now covered in trees proudly bearing their autumn colours.  Every shade of brown, red and yellow decorated the slopes.  We travelled for what seemed an age along smaller twisting roads until we finally entered the Plitvice National Park.  The park has a reputation for being one of the high points of visiting Croatia.  It’s located not too far off the beaten track if you’re travelling from the South-West of Croatia up towards Zagreb in the North.   The large forest area contains a system of multi-coloured lakes at different levels on the mountainside.

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Once we’d finally reached our destination the search for accommodation began.  B&B style lodging with families in the area is common.  Yet again, it was quiet this time of year and in the impending darkness many of the buildings looked imposing rather than welcoming.  We drove along a side road to take a look at the options.  Before we’d even started up the road a youth came running from one of the houses, waving his arms for attention.  “I’m not staying in someone’s HOUSE!”, Lee insisted – then gunned the engine and raced up the hill before any more of the locals could emerge and accost us.  There was definitely a feeling that the sound of an engine on the road would only attract a large crowd of unwanted ‘helpers’ competing with each other to the point of potentially causing a mini-riot.  As we came back around to the main road we pulled into a parking space by a much larger, brighter property just along the road that consisted of more than one building.  A Croatian man stood outside, regarding us dourly.  He stood his ground, resisting the urge to race over.  This was a bit more promising.  At least we weren’t feeling outnumbered yet.

We enquired after accommodation and our new Croatian friend proudly showed off his available rooms.  Pension Miric was a large house with a big dining area and a welcome roaring fire to greet us as we entered.  The rooms above were warm and cosy – a relief after the temperatures outside.  After agreeing an extremely reasonable price, we hauled in our luggage and settled into our comfortable room.  Only the need for food drove us back out again that night to explore the area and see what the options were.  As it turned out, the options were almost non-existent.  16km up the road we eventually reached a village where everything wasn’t shut… but found that those places that were open weren’t offering much.  Just at the point of giving up, we came upon a cafe/bistro that was lit up and had a few people inside enjoying some actual food, rather than beer.  We were provided with simple, tasty food and returned to our lodgings where we promptly signed up for breakfast in the morning in preference to repeating the search for food again.

Completely inappropriately dressed for the now chilly weather, we bought our tickets and joined all the other tourists visiting the park, wisely dressed in their waterproof jackets and hiking gear.  Plitvice Lakes are a unique natural sight and this time of year was perfect for a visit.  The sun wasn’t beating down as we climbed along trails, there were fewer tourist buses converging on the park, and the autumn foliage on the trees provided a beautiful backdrop.  We took the 4-6 hour trail around the upper and lower lakes which covered most of what there was to see.  Our tickets provided us with a bus to the upper lakes, a boat across the lower lakes, and another bus back to our starting point when we were done.  We started out on a misty morning with chilly dew still in the air.  As we descended back down towards the lower lakes the air gradually warmed until it was a bright sunny day towards the end.

The lakes are beautiful shades of blue and turquoise.  Waterfall after waterfall rushes down the mountain sides.  There are numerous tracks to follow, some of them becoming wooden boardwalks that wind across and around lakes.  At some points you walk over rivers of gushing water that you later encounter further below as they shoot over the edge of a shelf and fall to a lake below.  The waters are crystal clear, showing tadpoles and fish flitting about below the surface, or reflecting the autumn colours from the trees surrounding them.  The ‘big waterfall’, or aptly named ‘Veliki Splat’ was quite tame compared to other waterfalls we’ve seen in our travels, but located in some really scenic surroundings.  The park was quite busy to get through.  For some stretches you could manage to walk along in peace.  In others there were streams of people flowing against you, or hampering you as you waited for a piece of track wide enough to get around them.  It must be impossible to see a lot of the sights during the summer months as the tracks fill with more busloads of tourists.  As it was, there were some highly risky stretches where the oncoming tourists refused to walk in single file and you had to edge around them.  This while water gushed past, an inch from your foot.  “When I get pushed in, I’m taking as many of these people with me as I possibly can”, I kept muttering as I precariously balanced and just about avoided tumbling into a lake or river.

A few hours later, we wearily disembarked from the last bus and trudged back up to where the car was waiting.  It was almost dinner time and we had signed up for a traditional meal at our lodgings.  Due to the thick Croatian accent when our host described the options, I had opted for salmon rather than what sounded like ‘elk’ meat.  Apparently it was salmon or ‘other meat’ as I later discovered.  While salmon wouldn’t normally have been my first preference, our host had been delighted that we were going for his preferred option.  He even smiled once.  We suspect he then spent the day wrestling salmon out of the river and onto his frying pan.  All the other guests had also chosen the fresh fish.  We were served platters heaped with vegetables and very large fish that would have stared balefully up at us if they’d still had their eyes.  After finally removing heads and bones (Lee’s job), we were left with a heap of very fresh salmon.  The meal was topped off with a dish of Croatian pastries which were interesting to sample, but probably more filling than the rest of the meal had been.  We rolled ourselves to bed to sleep off all the food.  It was a high quality meal that would have cost a fortune back home and a good finale to our time in the Croatian mountains.

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Splitting from Split

Posted on October 7, 2010 by sheila

Split is somewhat like Dubrovnik in that it has an ‘Old City’ area that attracts all the tourists, and the remainder of the sprawling city is left to its own devices.  The transport hub is located right alongside so the area around the pedestrianised streets is heavy with traffic.  A redesigned marina area faces onto the sea where customers of the cafes can sit out under awnings and enjoy an afternoon coffee and cigarette.  Shops and restaurants populate the streets within the walls where roman squares and buildings are contained.  At this time of year it’s quiet and the streets are less crowded, but as a result there are few restaurants open to cater for what is still quite a crowd of people.  There are plenty of bakeries with tasty breads and pastries that cost barely anything.  Unfortunately few of the cafes provide takeout drinks to go with them as we found out on some long treks to provide Lee with his daily caffeine intake.

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We spent a couple of days in Split strolling through old streets and walking along the waterfront until we finally left the tourist areas and gained a wider view of the city with the mountains looming in the background.  We also discovered far superior gelato flavours to what had been available in Dubrovnik.  Lee sipped coffee while I stood in line watching Italian tourists spend an age sampling all the icecream before finally choosing what they wanted… then wanting to pay in Euros.  Once they were told this would result in Kuna change there was pandemonium and much to-ing and fro-ing to consult with their companions outside before they managed to produce payment.  It’s a nice city to spend some time in (though suffers a serious sewage smell in places).  Not quite as impressive as Dubrovnik, but has its own unique look.

After soaking up some of the scenery we were ready to hit the road again, this time to head for the mountains.  First however, we had to UNPARK THE CAR.  We poured an entire bottle of motor oil (which involved slicing my finger open trying to remove the foil top) into it first in an attempt to placate it for the abuse it had recently received.  The engine sounded happier, though it would seem we were doomed to endure the burnt rubber smell for the rest of the trip.  Getting back down the over-crowded hill proved to be just as tiresome and painful as getting up it had been.  A misadventure sent us down what turned out to be a cul de sac, requiring some extreme car reversing on Lee’s part to extricate us while people casually stopped to chat in our path.  Just in case we weren’t finding it hard enough to get past.  Eons later we made it back out onto the main road following any signpost that indicated an exit from Split.

Back on the coastal road we were veterans now, and almost immune to the antics of other drivers other than the odd wince as they avoided death by a whisker.  The highlight of the day for me was passing through one of the many villages at the head of a group of cars travelling at a sedate speed-limit pace, and seeing a young boy look not once, but three times over his shoulder as we approached.  Applying the brakes, I waited to see what he was up to.  As the traffic finally approached him he suddenly veered out into the middle of the road, stopped, looked over his shoulder again, and stared disappointedly back to where I had almost come to a halt, still a few metres behind.  With a shrug, he wandered back to the path to wait and try his luck with the next group of cars.  I’m not sure whether he was under the impression that insurance payouts are worth landing on a tourist car bonnet, or was just developing his suicidal road tendencies early.  In either case, you can’t lose your concentration for even a second on these roads without disaster potentially striking.

Once we reached Zadar, we bade the coastal road goodbye and ventured mountain-ward in search of the famous lakes of Plitvice.  The temperature outside slowly dropped as we started climbing the hills we’d been avoiding until now.  It was time to check out the super highway.  After collecting a ticket at the booth we found ourselves zipping along roads that twisted and climbed until they could go no further without plunging into tunnels that drill through the mountains.  Spectacular views of the land below showed that the barren rocky land we’d seen up until now was broken by the mountain barrier where it changed to a much more lush and colourful landscape.

On a stretch of the highway we pulled off to a lonely hotel and rest-stop, facing out onto the immense view below.  The place unfortunately appeared to be deserted despite advertising that it was open 24/7.  The abandoned building would have been the perfect setting for a Croatian version of The Shining.  Unfortunately the wind battering the area was a strong deterrent against hanging around for long to enjoy the stunning view.  Appreciation of the surroundings was also hampered by the sting of the wind causing your eyes to tear up.  Apart from having to steer clear of the edge of the ledges, you literally had to hang on to your clothing for fear that another gust of wind would blow them right off.  We settled for raiding the patisserie provisions we’d bought that morning in Split, and eating them in the car which rocked back and forth constantly in the winds.  Then it was back onto the highway to plunge through the guts of mountain peaks in tunnels that went on and on.  Already we were entering one of the many national parks, but still had quite a few miles to go before we would reach our ultimate destination of Plitvice.

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